The Eagle and The Tocororo
by LxISxAxBABE
Summary: The history of Cuba and America from a human standpoint. From the rise to strength to the fall from allies, the turbulence felt by both nations in a union never meant to be. Yaoi in later chapters, minor language. M for a reason.
1. Prologue

A/N: For the lovely ht4eva, I am so sorry for taking so long, but I was enthralled by the concept. This is rather long for a story of mine… but I loved writing it. So I hope you all love it as much as I do.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, or any of the characters I pervert in my stories. Those all belong to the creator. I just like to make his characters do the naughty… *nosebleed*

The first time was when we were colonies.

I saw him out of the corner of my eye, like a mirage… I hadn't even thought for a second that he was real. He wasn't as young as me, no; he was already an adult and I was still barely able to stand tall enough to see over the dune grasses. England was tending me carefully, kindly, as if I were glass. He chased away the Netherlands and France from me as if protecting gold and not an emergent nation.

But Spain did not treat him as England treated me. Before I had looked, really looked, he looked just as a dark-skinned young man. But my second glance upon him yielded frightening images. Scars and gashes, cropped hair and a sort of weak limp all assaulted my vision as he was led across the sand. England said derogatory things about him as they passed, scowling and cursing as he was known to. But I watched, curious, worried, and he stumbled in the shifting sands. Spain shoved him forward, disregarding his evident pain, and I wanted to help him even though I was too young to. I gasped as I tried to follow him and tripped over the loose sand. England had caught me, chiding me lightly for being such a clumsy fool but chuckling, yet I didn't care because the only thing I had been aiming for was to follow the scarred man and I couldn't when he was already out of sight.

The second time was when England wanted to use me to become rich. He created a trading circuit between me, him, and the islands south of me. The man was on the shoreline of his home, surrounded by the warm air and salty tang of the sea, his hair longer now but tied back from his face so he could see. His jaw-line was strong, his visage almost majestic. But he saw me and his gaze hardened slightly. He stood tall and straight, with pride in himself despite his condition of colonization. I had spoken with him, but he seemed to have no patience with me, and his agreement appeared begrudging. I suddenly wanted to get to know this man, who had no fear and who made his own thoughts instead of spitting out the thoughts of his controller.

He was Cuba. He was strong and able, with thick arms and a muscled torso. His body was marred with pale scar tissue. He worked with the grace of a king, despite his laborious tasks. I admired his strength, his personality, his will to move along.

And yet part of me found a hidden disgust for him, for his lifestyle and his living conditions. Part of me was repulsed by the darkness of his skin, the curl of his hair, and the definition in his brow. It was just something of that time, I presumed, this racism I acknowledged creeping beneath my skin. It didn't surface often, especially when I felt the stirrings of rebellion in my bosom, but it was there, fervid as a wildfire.

He was wary of me. I was similar to his captor, similar to the men who had fettered him and forced him to serve, and his keen eyes would shift over me quickly before he returned his gaze to his work, or to the sea, or to the gently waving leaves of the cane plants.

"Why are you here?" he asked once, as he rested amongst the almost outdated tobacco plants. Their young stalks swayed slightly as a warm breeze played across the land. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to know you," I said honestly, "I want to know another colony like me."

"I'm not like you," he said, frowning slightly, "I'll never be like you."

He didn't mean it as an insult, and I knew better than to take it as such. But I came to see him and keep up trade with him often, and I loved seeing him survey the fields or walk the beach. He seemed so natural, so relaxed. I was finally old enough to be looked upon as an equal to the other colonies. But he would not look at me as the other did. We were too different to be considered equal, it seemed. And yet, he treated me with a mild respect as we did business. We were almost equals. Almost.

But time passed and we grew up, and though I became a stalwart prospecting nation, he was still under the oppression of his father nation. I vowed to myself, when I got my freedom, when I was strong and independent, that I would save him. Spain didn't seem all that tough anyway.

One day, I was going to be the hero. One day, I was going to unshackle Cuba, and maybe one day, we could look at each other as equals.

A/N: I broke it into chapters to make it easier to digest. :o Like it? Hate it? R&R, _vous beaux enfants_, because… it helps me and I can keep churning out smut, _ouais_?


	2. Early Beginnings

A/N: Onward to more reading~!

Disclaimer: *not sure if has to do every chapter….* Hetalia = not mine.

I had grown up, but not in the way that I had expected.

My adolescent crept up on my like a wildcat, struck me like lightning, and left me feeling mean and fickle. I revolted, acting upon dormant rage, and by sheer chance did I win the conflict. I left my beloved, stricken father and became strong enough to tend myself, and with that victory came the belief that I was invincible. I held my head high and spoke proudly. It wasn't arrogance, but it was something more bitter than pride that people endured in my presence. I ignored their sentiments in favor of myself.

I had not forgotten of the nation to my south, nor did I plan on forgetting him. Ever so often, I caught a glimpse of him, slaving away in his fields, and part of me wanted to save him while the rational part of me begged for peace, peace that lasted long enough for me to save myself before I weakened drastically. I was not destitute, but I was poor. I was making haste to grow my own crops, to quickly build up a trading enterprise so that I would have the money to fund myself. Yet he could not even dream of attempting what I was, and that made me feel awful for not hurrying to his aid.

I conversed with a short Corsican who sold me vast expanses of land. Take it, he said, waving me away dismissively, Take it, it's only good to cater to those traitors on Haiti. I grew tall and I grew restless. More time passed, and the conditions he suffered through grew worse and worse as the demands for sugar and tobacco fluctuated with time. I felt sorry for him; here he was, professing his loyalty to a nation that treated him like trash. I still wanted to save him. And Spain was really starting to get on my nerves.

A little propaganda surfaced and nationalism boomed as I led the crusade across the water. He was already beaten and bruised from the first war, and yet he was still fighting… he reminded me of me, all those years ago. Back when I was struggling and someone finally reached out to me. I was now that somebody, that veteran of revolution and conflict. I would have given anything to help him out of that mess back then. I brought superior strength and more men, and it took less than a year to chase that Spanish bastard east.

The Treaty of Paris was the most wonderful thing he had ever witnessed. Freedom. Liberty. Rights.

"So this…" he asked, looking at me, "This'll give me my independence?" I nodded.

"Yeah. This paper says that no one can make you do anything you don't wanna do." I leaned back, stretching. The Cuban sun was hot on my shoulders, and I almost wished I was in his slave attire to beat the heat. He was silent for a moment.

"What's the catch?" he suddenly demanded. I was taken aback.

"There isn't any," I replied quickly, holding my palms out as innocently as I could. He reread the document.

"You'll be in control of me," he growled hoarsely. I shook my head.

"I'll be like a mentor. You can do whatever you want- I just make sure you don't get hurt." He sat up straighter, and I was reminded of the dignity in saw in him, all those years back.

"How can I believe that?" he asked sharply, "Would you have, over a century ago?" I was silent for a moment. His eyes were hard and piercing, dark as onyx, but looking away would get me nowhere. I softened my gaze.

"I probably wouldn't have," I admitted, and he narrowed his eyes, "But I wish I had been given the opportunity. It's hard to make it as a country in the world now, and if I just leave you, Spain will come back." His frown hardened in memory, and I continued to work him down, hoping to ease him into signing. "I can promise that I've got too many of my own problems to be taking on yours. I don't have the resources to dominate you, and I never planned on it. But if you need a hand, I'll be there. It's as simple as that."

"Life's never that simple," he spat.

"It is with me," I protested, "I don't want to become the thing I fought before. I could not in my wildest dreams subdue a nation for selfish gain. Why would I? That's a European goal." I glanced back at the document before fixing him in my gaze. "Here's the deal: either you sign it and _trust_ me, or you go back to Spain." He did not panic, not that I had expected it, but instead glared at me coolly. I was struck with the physical dignity in his stance and kingly power he bore in his eyes. For what felt like forever, he watched me, his expression hard and tense. But finally, a sigh passed his lips and he offered his hand, palm up.

"I'll sign."

In shaky letters, he signed the treaty and I became his mentor. But anyone could see he wasn't happy with the terms. He set the pen down and stood up sharply.

"I'm going to survey my island," he said coolly, and I nodded and lifted the treaty. This was going to come with me back to Europe, where I could finally uphold the Monroe Doctrine in all its glory. I watched through the corner of my eye as he stood up stiffly and turned. He walked proudly, tall, with a regal disdain of being caged, and I admired his strength of character. He did not so much walk, rather, he moved briskly and evenly, as if not touching the sand but gliding over it like ice. Within a minute, he was gone, disappeared behind the dunes. I turned back to the treaty. It was high time I removed the dregs of European society from my half of the world.

A/N: Second chapter down! Blah blah blah… R&R…. But seriously. And requests are accepted, because I like to see what goes through your heads. :D It's fun! _À bientot, mes beaux~!_


	3. Flourishing Intimacy and SetBacks

A/N: only 3 more chapters of this left for you all! :D intimate moments ahead! Be warned- this is where their relationship starts.

Disclaimer: *still not sure…* I only wished I owned Hetalia, but alas, 't'is not mine.

With that, I took over as mentor to the island nation. I watched as he picked up the pieces of his tired island and helped it flourish. There was an all-around better quality to the area, a happiness, a fairness, and I drank in the intoxicating cocktail of liberty it offered.

Also, he himself was happier. His eyes were not as hard or as cold. He sat easier, and rested more often. His scar tissue began to fade away as the abuse passed. He began to trust me, and we began to walk alongside each other, like brothers. The allure of him was beginning to rub off on me. It was a two-pronged sentiment: I sought the vast, rich expanses of his island, which offered the opportunity to increase the agrarianism that had set in, in the south and throughout the west. But I also found that I had developed an affection for the dark-skinned man himself. It was almost an unfounded, adolescent lust; I wanted to capture him and draw him into a sensuous affair, where we could act as two individuals and not nations, where we could feel the other's strong expanses of land and breach the heartlands of each other's home without castigation.

It transformed from an unfeasible fantasy to a possible occurrence. We began talking frequently, discussing politics and the condition of the world and the beauty of the land in Cuba and the colors of the sun and sea. It was pleasant, and he seemed just as willing to talk to me as I was to him.

"I've been waiting for you." He stood up from his rocky perch. These beaches weren't exactly known for their stones, so I was surprised to see one in the middle of the beach.

"Waiting for me?" I chuckled good-naturedly. "I guess I've made quite the impression on you."

He began to trust me deeply, and though I didn't want to risk the fragile relationship, I craved the taste of his tongue and the warmth of his chocolate skin.

"Hey, Cuba."

"Yeah?" he was draining a coconut, readying it for consumption, but he paused at my voice.

"… What's your name?"

He looked at me slowly, dark eyes taking in every detail, and it would be a lie to say that his gaze didn't excite me a little.

"Cuba. Why?"

"I don't mean your country name," I said, leaning back, "I mean, _your_ name. We're friends, right? I don't like just calling you Cuba." I looked at him as innocuously as I could, praying he didn't take offense because it was an almost too familiar gesture.

In fact, he didn't get offended. He put the coconut down and turned in the sand. It was a familiar setting; the warm beach littered with pink shells and driftwood and smooth stones, with cerulean water lapping up at the soft sand as if trying to climb onto the shore with us.

"Why?" he asked, but it wasn't harsh or malicious.

"Because I like you," I said.

"We've only known each other for a few years."

"But we're equals, right?" I urged, "You and I, we're equal now."

Our cultures were different, happened to be the problem. Whereas I thought we should have called each other our intimate names the moment I helped him into freedom, he saw it differently. It wasn't the same for him- obviously, he still didn't trust me? It kind of put me off, but nothing could deter the fire in my veins every time his gaze fell on me.

"We're not equal," he growled softly. Then he looked away. "Why are you so concerned?"

"Because I like you," I repeated. "And I want to be friends."

"We _are_ friends."

"Not right now- I want to be _friends_. I want us to be closer than allies, or whatever the heck we are now."

He looked at me slowly, his eyes sliding across my face and down my throat slightly. Then his eyes slipped back up over my cheeks and locked onto my eyes softly.

"My name is Carlos… Carlos Machado Ruz." Then he looked away, grumbling slightly in Spanish. I grinned.

"See? That wasn't so hard. My name's Alfred. Alfred F. Jones."

"F?" he looked at me sidelong, not willing to actually make eye contact, and I scratched the back of my head sheepishly.

"Actually, it's Alfred _Franklin_ Jones… I just think 'F' sounds cooler."

He snorted, but it didn't seem to be in amusement, at least not in my sense. I didn't mind though… he had actually given me his name…

Carlos… that was different… I hadn't imagined that as a name… more like, Fidel, or… Gerardo, something like that. But Carlos was not a bad name… and it kinda fit him, in a way.

"Can I call you Carlos?" I asked. He looked at me again, slowly, sending liquid fire through my veins.

"… When it's appropriate," he simply replied.

After that, I only called him Carlos when it was just us, us alone, when not even the natives were around to hear the sinful utterance. It was a secret that would never leave our thoughts. Not even the other nations knew- it was too informal, too friendly, for people in our positions… it only led to hurt and collapse.

But Carlos was different. He wasn't like England or France or Finland or anyone like that. He was like me; we were both slightly naïve, I guess… but he was headstrong yet judicious and candid with everything he did. He seemed like one of those stereotypical heroes in a story, even before I had decided I was a hero. And when I did, I strived to be just like him. He never bowed to me, never, and he hated taking my advice or help. He wanted to handle himself.

"I will be my own nation, America," he said once, as he was perched above the waves on a rocky outcropping. You couldn't hear the splash of the stones over the roar of the waves as he tossed them in. "Look around us. This is all my land, with all of my people. The ocean, the cliffs, the sand… it is mine. I own every tree and stone. I should very well know how to run it myself, or to learn so that I am not a child for the rest of my life."

Though he refused to listen to me, he trusted my judgment, and we were close. Closer than allies, closer than friends… but not quite 'there' yet. And the wait was killing me. I wanted to pull him close and kiss him slowly, savoring the taste of his tongue and the roughness of his skin. I wanted to feel the firm muscle of his arms and abs, and I wanted to feel his pressing warmth as we were locked in the heat of lust. It was getting to be an obsession, a thought I could barely ignore when I saw him daily. No, the sexual tension was getting painfully obvious, and I wasn't sure how much longer I could control myself.

"A… Alfred." I turned to him. A storm was rolling in, and the air was thick with the feel of it. The Native Cubans were all tucked away in their homes, waiting for the rain and the thunder to pass, and it was just us on the beach. The ocean growled, rather than roared, as it crashed into the shoreline.

"Yes, Carlos?"

"…" his eyes were smoldering rather than blazing, like the last dying embers in a fire, as he studied me, every inch of me. My pulse raced delightfully under his gaze… and then he looked away. "Nothin'. Never mind."

The wait was excruciating, and that was just plain torture, to think something was going to happen and to be shut down… I was a deprived teen with raging hormones and this wasn't helping the matter…

"It doesn't seem like nothing," I pointed out, and I stepped closer to him. He looked up again, his eyes losing their burn.

"It is," he said, looking out toward the sea. He sighed. "The storm looks like it's going to be devastating…" I frowned slightly and moved even closer to him.

I don't know whether it was because I was on a hormonal high, or because I wasn't thinking, or maybe because I wasn't worried about what would happen later. But I took him by the arm, and I pulled him close. He was too startled to react, and by then, I was kissing him… he flinched back and I released him, backing away lest he started swinging but he never did…

I was the one to make the first move. I quickly apologized, like a cowering dog, and I turned and took off as fast as I could. If he spoke, I didn't hear him. I had always been faster than him as well, and so any chance of him catching him was smashed by the distance I had put between us.

The storm missed the island that night. I left the island as well and allowed him to grow up a little.

A/N: R&R~ (I'm feeling sorta lazy, ahaha…)


	4. Second Tries

A/N: heavier intimate stuffs ahead! :O

Disclaimer: *maybe….? Not sure* Hetalia does not belong to me. (Unfortunately for Francis…)

I returned some time later, to invoke a power I believed would help a now-faltering island I had fled only months ago. I had created it almost selfishly, I realized later, but at the time, I figured it was best.

"The Platt Amendment?" he asked, stepping back. We kept a bit of distance between our selves… it was a tender situation, that neither one wanted to aggravate.

"Yeah… it says that I can intervene militarily if things seem bad."

"What gives you the right to do this?" he demanded. I frowned slightly.

"The terms of the Treaty of Paris," I said edgily, "You signed it and agreed to be under my tutelage, so you have to listen to me."

"I am now a nation, America," he said icily, "I should be allowed to handle my own affairs." I scowled slightly; had I ever been so impatient with him before? Never…

"Don't get cocky or you'll be crushed," I said sharply, "You need to know when to obey your elders!" He scowled darkly.

"I never asked for another Spain," he growled. I flinched at his words. To think that he likened me to that dictatorial nation was absolutely absurd.

"If assistance is dictatorship, then you're doomed to crumble, you wretched fool!" I hissed heatedly.

"Overcoming me is not assistance!" he growled, but his eyes carried an ounce of pain, like liquid glass, and there was a break in my rage.

"I'm not trying to overtake you," I said softly, glancing around. There was no one here but us, and yet it seemed so loud.

"Then you should be giving me the choice to handle myself," he said, suddenly much more belligerent. I put my hands out as innocently as I could; I had a grasp of myself again, and the only thing left to do was to hope he burned himself out and agreed.

"I don't want you to fall apart," I said gently, "I don't want to see you collapse, Carlos."

"Do you think…" he said, taking a step back again, "That you have the right to call me that after what had transgressed before?"

"What are you talking about?" I made the mistake to step forward, and I quickly moved back. He looked to the west; the sun was setting, burning a vibrant copper and reflecting its brilliant light on cobalt waves. Pink cotton clouds rode on a royal sky, and lavender birds flitted between them buoyantly. It was beautiful… if this was any other situation, I might go to him. But it was not.

"After that attempt a few months back… and then you ignored me. How dare you call me that after the disrespect and callousness I endured from you?"

"Did you… want me to do that?" I asked slowly, and his face contorted with what looked like brief pain, and then anger, and finally sadness. Then he blinked slowly and did not answer me. It was answer enough. I stepped forward, and the deep rumble of thunder broke the silence.

"It's going to rain," I said slowly.

"Let it rain," he whispered harshly. His voice was like iron on slate.

"Come with me."

"I don't want to."

"You can't stay in the rain," I said beseechingly. He shook his head violently.

"I don't care."

"Please come with me… Let's talk more. It can about anything. Just don't stand out in the rain." Thunder shook the houses. He looked up at me slowly, shaking his head.

"I want to enjoy this island as it is now… mine."

That final jab hurt more than it shook have. I fell back as if punched, and he looked toward the horizon again.

"We're not the same men we were then, are we," he stated softly, "And yet, I feel as though we haven't grown up in the least. You're still that immature kid I met on the beach… and I'm still disappointing."

"You've never been a disappointment," I protested.

"Then you're a fool," he said, turning to me bellicosely. "And blinded by something." His eyes were searching for something, an opening, a feeling, a movement… I wasn't sure what was going on and it unnerved me to be this unsure of anything.

"Why did you leave the island then?" It was barely a whisper, yet it was as loud as a scream. I flinched at the sharpness of his tone before realizing that there was no malice or upset at all. He didn't get angry like he was known to. Instead, he turned west again, toward the sun that was nearly beneath the waves. The sky was a fierce orange, brighter than the sun, outshining it, where vermillion and aubergine clouds intermingled on the inky cobalt sky that the birds had all but vanished from. The sea was ablaze, ultramarine waters being pushed below to make way for titian waves.

"I didn't leave because I was disappointed," I said softly, "At least, not in you."

"You didn't give me a chance to react," he accused. Thunder rumbled louder; the rain began to fall.

"You have the chance now!" I cried belligerently, calling over the hiss of the wind. He turned to me sharply, eyes hard. The sunset was gone, covered by dark, rolling clouds.

"You can bitch and moan all you want, but when you have the chance and you pass it up, you have no right to say anything, damned coward!"

He looked enraged, and I saw a reflection of the man I had known back then. He surged up like the sea, and he grabbed me by my lapel.

"You don't understand…" he hissed, his face mere inches from mine. Our eyes met, and before I could react (and I wanted so badly to), he dragged me down. His lips hit mine hard, roughly, and I grabbed his shoulders violently, biting his lip and slipping my tongue into his gasping mouth.

The rain came, falling like bullets. Thunder crashed closer, lightning split the sky. His hands slid down my body, gripping my hips harshly as he strived for more, and I groaned into the warm cavern as he grew more forceful. Wet fabric met and it was painfully erotic to feel him this close to me. Rain ran down our faces and got caught in our kiss. It slicked our hands and soaked our hair. The thunder shook the ground beneath our feet, but I refused to break from the contact I had craved for so long… He gasped and began to pull away, but I would have none of that. I followed him as he backed away, not wanting to lose an inch of his delicious mouth.

"Please… don't…" I whispered against his lips. Finally, there was a break, a breath, and he was in my arms and close to me as distance began to blossom between us.

"We should go inside," he said, expressionlessly.

"I thought you didn't want to."

"I changed my mind." His hands left my shoulders but I held him close.

"I don't want to let you go." I leaned in for another kiss, craving more, needing more, but he put space between us.

"Let me go."

I did, and he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and began to walk away.

"Don't go." It wasn't a request, and he stopped. "Listen to me."

"I refuse to accept your Platt Amendment," he said, and he stalked away, leaving me to stand angrily (painfully hurt) in the rain.

A/N: If you hated it, tell me pwease. :o R&R, _mes petits_~


	5. Weakness and Lust of the Same Name

A/N: Holy mama, here's the moment Francis has been waiting for! *stares intently* _Les rapports sexuels~_!

Disclaimer: *screw it, I've done it 4 times already, why stop now?* If Hetalia _was_ mine, world meeting would be synonymous with orgy. Thus, Hetalia is not mine.

The next meetings were taciturn. I brought in troops to deal with unruly leaders and manage the small island. I was feeling more and more like an abusive master, but our last meeting left me cold.

"What are you doing here," he snapped. We were at the cliff overlooking the sea again. The waves lapped at the stony walls hungrily, but the sky was clear and the water was sparkling. The wind toyed with his hair and offered relief for the summer heat. It was almost romantic… almost.

"I'm helping out your people," I replied just as coolly. "Obviously, you seem quite unable."

"They were doing fine!" he retorted, "Your damned military hurt everything! How dare you insult me, and in my own land no less!"

I wanted to snap, to demean him in ways only I knew, but my eyes were drawn to those soft lips, that I had ravished so long ago, and my words fell away. The desire was still there, buried beneath frustration and anger. I needed to feel him again… so I threw away my anger like a child.

"I can withdraw my troops," I said enticingly. He looked at me harshly.

"I don't want you- I don't want anything from you, and I sure as hell don't want to give you anything." I was almost hurt- but I just watched him.

"I miss you," I said candidly. He didn't change.

"I want you out of my country."

"I need you."

"You need my exports," he snarled.

"I need _you_," I repeated more forcefully, and I stepped forward. He was trapped between me and the sea, and I gave up on humanity because there was nothing left between us. "I crave you… don't you understand?"

"Don't come near me," he hissed, "I don't care what you want… you've got everything you earned." I was nearly close to grab him, and he backed toward the cliff. The waves roared beneath us.

I should have grabbed him, made him feel how I felt, but I couldn't. I couldn't bring myself to touch him. He watched me icily, lips part just slightly as to let air in and angry retorts out.

"… I love you." The words just slipped out, like a draft through an open window, and it left both of us shocked. His eyes widened, like two dark discs, locked on my equally wide eyes. My lips, still parted, barely twitched, and I began to back away.

"I'm sorry…" I tried to remove myself from all of this, but the die had been cast, and there was no going back.

"You think… a few words can make me crawl back like some helpless puppy?" he growled, and he advanced as I backed away. This was a dance, not a fight… as one advanced, the other could do nothing but back away.

"I mean it," I cried out. I had given up- there was nothing left, and I couldn't reclaim those words nor prove them. "I mean it, I love you, goddamnit, why can't you believe me!" my words fled in a torrent, baring my heart before him.

"You don't love me!" he shouted, and his voice felt painfully loud in the crisp silence of the island, "You don't love anything! You just use things until you grow bored! Like a child! You hear me, you're just like a child, you filthy bastard!" he screamed and ranted at me, and every word felt sharper than any blade. I cringed and tried to put my arms up, to defend myself, but he grabbed them and pulled them down, moving closer and closer, until I could feel his breath on my lips, hot and furious. His fingers dug into my forearms, hard enough to bruise. His words lost meaning, and all I could feel was his brazen hate and cold anger in his words. I didn't have a defense for anything, and could do nothing to weaken the torrent of words. It washed over me like a tidal wave.

Finally, his words began to slow, and his eyes softened slightly.

"And… I don't know why I care…" he said, and his voice dropped off. I watched him as he lost his advance.

"Please… just once more, can you believe in me?" I whispered, shifting forward a half-millimeter. He flinched as if I had struck him. "Can you let me prove it? Can I show you… I love you, I do, I'm not just saying it, I just don't know how to behave… yes, I'm a child, I'm so sorry, I'm immature, I'm pathetic, but please, let me show you-" I began to speak faster, to approach him, and he began to back up. I sought eye contact but was denied, over and over. His hands flexed on my forearms as if he was considering pushing me, watching me tumble into the foaming waves beneath. "I can mature, I will mature, I just want to stay with you, I'll do anything if I can have that back- I need you, I need you so much, you've no idea, just please, please, don't say no, don't deny me, because-" I stopped suddenly, all advances dead as I just looked at him. He was breaking down, slowly. His face contorted with pain, his eyes weak, and every ounce of strength in his arms faded. He would break down, I knew how to make him fall, but I couldn't bear it- I couldn't stand another time like the last.

"I can't lie to you… I didn't just try to save you from Spain," I breathed, moving closer. He was rigid, weak but unmoving. "I didn't just want Guantanamo… I wanted you… I loved you before I knew what love was… please, just believe me…" I was already betraying myself, lying to myself as I tried to seduce him once more.

He was melting in my arms, hanging onto my words and believing every syllable… Yet knowing it was all a lie.

"Prove it," he hissed, forcefully, harshly, _cruelly_. I couldn't take it- he drove me _mad_.

I had him pinned to the ground, a beautiful, enticing addition to the fragrant grass, and he was just as sweet as the soft blades when he was under my tongue. He gasped against my lips, digging his nails into the back of my neck and my shoulder viciously, fighting as hard as I was. I felt him against my tongue, hard and passionate and hateful, as he pressed me for dominance. Teeth met tender lips, never out of teasing affection but of anger, of frustration, of pent-up sexual need… He relented but did not give in, fighting me off as he had fought Spain, pressing and tangling, forcing different routes and sneaky maneuvers… he drove me wild with each taunting motion. All control was lost to me… I moved blindly and hungrily, using my lust as guidance while I ravaged his lips and dug my fingers into his shoulders.

One by one, I stripped him of those dreadful garments, the lines separating us, and he did the same for me, until the sun met our skin alone. The wind buffeted our skin gently, playing with our hair lovingly as we tore each other apart. I bruised his throat, digging my teeth in for good measure, ravishing the cry he sounded as I tasted him. His hands moved over my body, and my mind liked to think that he was memorizing each inch, for some romantic, affectionate, filthy lie of a dream. I left more marks, trailing my lips down his scarred skin, enjoying the exotic taste of his flesh while he tried to scrabble for dominance. His breath hitched; I bit down roughly on a dark bud, sucking roughly as he gripped a mass of my hair and pulled. I grunted in pain but tried to ignore his brutality to continue this, what I set out to do, my mission. He whimpered and gasped slightly, but fell silent and watched me harshly, trying to show dominance, to show strength… to show me he wasn't going to submit. I moved across his chest, peppering kisses across the strong muscle, pressing the pads of my fingers into his skin as I tasted him.

The sun was hot on our skin, and he pushed up so we were upright, before shoving me to the ground and moving above me. His breath burned my lips, and he claimed me, lust dancing in his eyes before he took my lips savagely. I bit him, taking his lower lip between my teeth and pulling, and he returned the favor. I could feel him against my thighs, pressing, ardent, hot against my skin. The sun warmed his skin, and I ran my fingers down his spine almost lovingly, coming down to cradle the firm muscle of his rear and thighs. We parted slowly, and he traced my jaw with swollen lips, moving toward my ear with his faint panting and erotic wants. I dug my nails into his skin, lightly dragging them down to mark him. My lips were against his pulsing jugular, feeling the lifeblood throbbing through his veins like a river. I kissed it, moving up with the flow.

"You are mine," I whispered, just beneath his ear, and he shuddered, "Mine, mine…. You are all mine. I need you… I _need_ you." He trembled excitedly against my lips, and I marked him, teeth and tongue and lips joining forces to darken his skin. "I need you…"

I was on top again, dominating him as I always have, taking what I wanted from his body, scanning the land with smooth fingertips and regretting nothing of what I did. Lust drove me- I could feel it in my bloodstream, hot and domineering, blinding me and sucking my sense away. Replacing it with desire and blind obedience. I moved down his body, my lips blazing a trail down his abdomen and stomach, my fingers tangling in wild curls as I worshipped his torso with teeth and tongue. I punctuated each touch with words, whispering my feelings as I listened to him cry out in pleasure. My fingers curled around his length, stroking him slowly as I tried to reclaim his lips. He was against my skin, trembling eagerly as I teased him into submission, as my lips met the shell of his ear, as I whispered my desires into his ear.

I wanted to meld with him, breaching skin and barriers as we became one. Desire put beautiful fantasies in my head, hopes and dreams that I couldn't see as impossible. I wanted to keep him. I wanted us as one. I didn't care about the freedom I had promised, so many years ago. I wanted all of him… I never wanted to let go.

He cried out as I prepared him, digging his fingers into whatever soft area was available, one hand fisted in the soft grass, the other biting into my back like a clamp. There were no tears… I looked into his face, and those strong defiant eyes met mine in a harsh, passionate, _hateful_ gaze. The turbulence was enough to drive me mad. I wanted to claim him, sear his skin with my lips and mark him forever. He looked away, toward the sky, defiant and strong and beautiful as ever, and closed his eyes, stifling another cry as I stretched him wider.

"Look at me," I whispered, as I released him. He did, and I caressed him with my lips, trying to make him understand as I took him.

His cry was beautiful. I braced my palms against his shoulders as I joined him, careful to keep pace, trying not to hurt him as I invaded his soft passage. His fingers on my side squeezed and bruised my skin as he tried to hold on to the last fragment of sanity between us. My lips grazed his as I leaned down, trying to captivate him and capture him.

"You're all mine," I whispered, "I need you." He clenched around me randomly, making me grit my teeth in bliss. I tried to console him, to make him feel better. But nothing could be done to alleviate the pain save give him time. I peppered his face and throat with tender kisses, claiming those tender lips as mine as he whimpered and breathed.

"Move…"

He was mine and mine alone as I took him, feeling the warm breeze caress our hot skin. His face, contorted with pleasure and pain, flushed and beautiful, captured my attention. Dark eyes locked on mine as scarred hands fell on my hips. He spurred me on, digging blunt nails into my skin and crying out profanities I didn't understand. His hips jerked up to meet me, making me moan and press deeper. I wanted so much, too much, and I fell upon his face and lips, covering him with sloppy kisses as I pummeled him unrelentingly. He arched up into me, pleading, wanting more, more, and I was more than willing to give to him.

The sun beat down on our sweaty bodies, making him shine like a bronze warrior. You're beautiful. I love you. I need you. I panted, crushing his shoulders under my palms as I tried to sate him, and me. I love you. He cried out, wordlessly, lustily, begging, driving my climax as I sped up. It hurt- the sheer heat of him combined with the blistering rays abusing my back was enough to drive me mad… I love you. I kissed him and curled a hand around his dripping erection desperately, making him cry out and force his tongue deeper into my mouth.

His panting became ragged, and I felt him jerking against my skin, closer and closer to climax with each damaging thrust. He moaned in his native tongue, his voice vibrating against my lips and skin as he pressed sloppy kisses anywhere he could.

He arched his back against me, his voice as beautiful as life itself as he climaxed. I moaned- he squeezed around me delightfully, his nails digging into my shoulders as he bared his long neck. Ohgod, ohgod, ohgod… I grit my teeth and tried to go on, but I only managed a few more thrusts before I reached the end, pressing deep into his tight heat. He moaned, his nails biting into me again, weaker than before. I hardly felt it. My body slumped against his, tired and spent.

His chest rose and fell evenly, taking in deep, slow lungfuls of breath. I just laid there, enjoying the feel of him and the smell of him. He was in my arms, all mine. I finally had him. I felt his heartbeat beneath me, his warmth and vitality against my slick skin. It was almost perfect.

"…. Alfred." I looked up wearily, at his hard face. His eyes were turbulent.

"Yeah?"

"Get up."

I obliged willingly, slowly pulling myself free from him and sitting upright. He slowly rose to a seated position as well, sweat glinting on his skin and making him shimmer.

"…" his jaw was set, and I felt almost like as child as he looked at me. The sun was painful again, burning my shoulders mercilessly and making me wince with mild discomfort.

"… I meant it," I said finally, but he didn't move. "I meant it all."

"You lie," he said, but it wasn't harsh or biting. It was calm. "You're a liar, you always have been and always will be."

"I didn't lie!" I cried out weakly, "I love you! I do, I want you-"

"That's it exactly." he smiled wryly, his lips curling ever so slightly. "You want me. You don't love me. You lust for me." He wiped his stomach off with an open palm. "It's not me you love. It's my exports, my land, my body. It's power you love." He wiped his hand in the grass. "You have no reason to lie anymore." He rose to his feet, his burnished body glittering and showing every scar and imperfection as he collected his garments. I stared at that gorgeous body, looking over every mark on his skin and hurting more and more.

"I'm not lying," I whispered, "Why can't you believe me?"

"Because you're lying to me now," he said. I watched as he dressed, ignoring his filthiness, "You've got what you want, America." I flinched.

"Carlos…"

"Never call me that again. You are not my friend," he said slowly, buttoning his shirt to his throat. "We never were… I guess I was too blind." he turned to me. "I was naïve. And you… you still are. You wear that expression like you don't understand, but you do. You know what's going on. Or you're just a child."

"What are you talking about?" I cried out, rising to my feet. "Carlos, don't go- please, don't, explain me to me what you're saying, God, don't go…" I grabbed his arms and turned him to me. "Who do you think I am?" I said hoarsely, feeling the strength leaving me. His expression was almost serene, like a king mourning his kingdom in silence or a heron with broken wings.

"I think you're a child with a temper and a way of looking at people as playthings," he said softly, "And I played into your hands. I believed you. I believed that you loved me. But you were a clever actor, America." He pushed my hands from him. "Do not return to my island. I am perfectly capable of caring for my people myself. I am not asking permission from you any longer. Now I demand that you depart." He turned away, unyielding, and I felt my thoughts crumple. Emotion got the better of me.

"What gives you the right to act like you're better than me?" I snarled, and my voice increased in volume as I continued. "To seem like you're all-knowing, that you understand all and that I'm just a fool… I, who made you what you are today! I saved you, did you forget? I got you away from Spain! I gave you democracy and equality! I gave you everything! How dare you act like you're better!" He grew rigid.

"You bastard…" he hissed under his breath. "You gave me everything, you said?" He spun around, his face contorted with rage, "You took from me! Democracy? Ha! What sort of equality do you endorse where people of my color are kept in social darkness! You do not consider my citizens members of your nation! You imposed amendments upon my land that restrict me like a child! You are nothing more than an imperialist, pretending to be on a crusade for equality! You have no right to screech at me about creating me, you demon, when I lived under your shackles!"

"I saved you," I hissed, "Without my aid, you would still be a pawn of Spain! I have every right to impose upon you things that I know will aid you!"

"How does babying me and preventing me from caring for myself aid in any way!"

"I was making sure you didn't fall and hurt our efforts!"

"I need to learn from my mistakes and become a nation!" he growled, "And under your tutelage, I will never be more than a colony! I refuse! I'm not here to be your toy, America!"

"You don't have an option if I keep you or not!" I sneered, "I have the authority to free you when you are fit to self-govern."

"That will never happen under you!" he hissed, "And I am tired of being your pawn. No more, I say." He turned. "Never again. Leave Cuba, never come back."

He left me there, left to pick up my clothes and my pride, as the storm rolled in. How could I have not seen the uprising occurring right before my eyes. It would never be the same between us henceforth, both of us knew that. And as the thunder crashed and the rain fell, I knew he would never be Carlos again.

A/N: It took this long to get to some good hard smut, but now you all have it. :P You're welcome. (Or sorry, depending…) R&R so I can improve my skills as a "romance novelist". :P _Merci, et je vous aime_~ ^u^


	6. Conclusions

A/N: This chapter is sad…. This is the denouement, for all your English buffs. For the rest of you, the story goes downhill from here.

Disclaimer: *lewd grin* If only Hetalia was mine… *cackles* What a mess… But Hetalia is not mine, and thus is more suitable for the faint of heart. :P

I didn't return to the island. My heart hurt. I could only think of him- I had hurt him too much to go back and apologize. Nothing would be okay.

His island was perverted by corruption, something I should have been able to stop. I was too absorbed in myself… now he was hurt. I looked toward him, and I saw his people fighting, and poverty, and hunger. It was painful to watch… so I just stopped looking. I absorbed myself in my America. I helped glorify the American Dream. I encouraged the little boxes to be formed, and the boys to go to college. But I also encouraged the rebels, the teens, the ones who danced to rock 'n' roll and did what they wanted. I wanted everyone to be happy. It was the least I could do.

I watched the USSR as well. He had changed his name not so long ago, no longer wanting to be Russia but to prove that he was caring, that he treated his citizens the best. He governed in a way that I hated. I hated him… I hated him for all he stood for. And he hated me in the same way. My thoughts were distracted by him, and I made setting out to stop his spread of "communism" my number one priority. I was blind… Carlos had been right. But my people were none the wiser at the moment, and I was cocky and pushed the Truman Doctrine. I thought it would never happen here, in my oceans.

But then Carlos took the bait that bastard had out. I witnessed the change of power. I saw that evil man corrupt my Carlos. I needed to save him… I needed to. But he hated me… my heart ached as I acknowledged this. He hated me with his everything… how could I just come to save him when he would reject me? I spoke with my people. They wanted to help, beautiful souls that they are… my tailored men in their cushy offices all wanted to help. I daren't ask the outside population, they had too much to handle on their own, why disturb their peaceful lives with this? I made up my mind and kept it from the majority, to protect them. It would be known when it worked, and my people could rejoice at their generosity and kindness.

I made up my mind and my tailored men arranged to help take the island back from that dictator, Castro. We found the people he had wronged and we trained them to fight. We trained them well, but they were excited, over-excited. I should have known better. But I never did.

The invasion was not as I wanted. The leader of my people was not as strong as I had expected him to be. Looking back, I'm glad he wasn't. But the poor men and women who fought for their land were wiped away, left bloodstains on the beaches as I watched in horror. I heard their screams, felt their anguish… I knew I had done wrong. I could only watch helplessly as red soldiers killed or took innocent rebels.

He was there as well. I saw him at the edge of the beach, alongside that corrupt man, his face stoic, eyes blank. I wanted to break through the siege, to run to him, to kill that bastard that perverted his sweet nature. My lips moved silently. His blank eyes moved to me, and they hardened, dark and turbulent and frigid. I tried to hide my hurt, my suffering, and I wore a stern expression. I refused to let on that I regretted this. I would not be weak before him. I was such a child… I didn't understand what that meant to him…

It was a failure. I watched thousands die at the hands of the enemy… we didn't even come close to victory. Castro remained untouched, and my Carlos' heart was still black with the communist poison. I wasn't about to lose him… but it was almost over. I wanted one more day with him… one more chance to show him my honesty, my candidness, my purest love for him. I could still save him-!

He would not talk to me. I tried, in vain, to arrange a meeting. He had grown hard and cold since my last departure, and each request for even a few words of conversation were pushed away icily. He didn't even give me a reason.

One last chance. One more time.

The USSR threatened me with missile bases in his land, innocently claiming that they were just protection.

"Do not worry, _comrade_," he had said, smiling childishly, "They should not be a threat to you at all." _Should_! That lying bastard… I could storm Cuba, destroy the bases, but that would accomplish nothing.

I chose to talk it out with the hulking monster. I had hoped to see Carlos- Cuba- there, but when I arrived at the meeting grounds, that monstrous brute of a nation was the only one present.

"Is Cuba going to be attending?" I asked him, but he just shook his head slowly, still wearing that horrible smile.

"I felt it unnecessary to bring him into this foolish game," he said slowly, "After all, it is only you and I playing this, _da_? Why bother him with such petty things?" I frowned.

"I thought you would bring him," I said dangerously. The pale demon's smile widened.

"I never suggested that we force a young nation into such childish games. He is still recovering after your foolish attempt to 'liberate' him so many months back."

"He deserves freedom!" I snapped, but he merely laughed.

"He has freedom. That is why he chose young Castro, is it not?"

"Communism isn't freedom, you bastard, you know that!" I felt my fists clenching, but he was calm as ever.

"And your capitalism is?" he asked innocently.

"It's more free than forcing people to live as peasants!"

I saw anger flash through his eyes. I had chipped away at his armor- normally, this would be a sign that I could win, but I was too upset to continue at him.

"I had hoped you would have brought Ca- Cuba-" I tripped over my words, feeling my rage give way to frustrated hurt- "to these negotiations, since we are debating about his land-"

I saw the rage begin to fade, his smile unfaltering and plastic and disgusting, and he shook his head.

"It is not your decision who is and is not present at a conference between you and I." Then his smile widened. "However, he did not want to come." My shock was obvious, and he tilted his head to one side. "I was not planning on telling you, because I did not want to hurt your foreign relations… but…" I wasn't listening anymore, not that he was saying anything important. He didn't want to….? I thought I would break down, fall weak at the feet of my enemy, but I suddenly felt nothing. There was no pain, or suffering, or longing… there was nothing. I steeled up and looked at my rival. He was innocent and childish and purely evil…. And I hated him and everyone associated with him."Let's get these negotiations underway then," I said, grinning, chuckling like I hadn't in a long time, "And get you the fuck away from my people."

That was the final blow to us. I gave up trying to be near him with that final move. Emotion made me blind- I had trusted that communist monster blindly. He had never chose not to come- he waited for an invitation that he would never receive. Castro kept power- eventually, he left, but many were there to fill his place, and Cuba was never himself again. We never talked again- I heard from enough people that he hated me, and I would do the same sort of psychological warfare if I cared enough. What was the point anyway? I had thought I had lost the only thing that mattered to me when he was gone. I realized later that I was just being melodramatic. He never meant to me what I thought he did. He meant easy sex, childish lust, young desire. I never loved him.

Or so I told myself. Maybe it was just easier to decide that I was just being a kid then, that I had matured and I could tell I was wrong then. Maybe it was easier that I didn't love the perfection in his face or the knowledgeable look in those chocolate eyes. Or that his smile didn't make me melt inside. Oh, yes, it was nicer to pretend like he hadn't broken my heart the day he left me in the rain, so many years back. And if anyone mentioned our last meeting, I wondered what they were talking about. It was nothing, I would say, nothing. Stupid. Childish. I didn't mean it, neither did he. We were just being stupid.

He and my brother to the north were friends now. He beat my poor brother, then apologized and they became friends. He won't come near me, and I told Canada to stay away from him. He was bad news. He didn't listen. Not my fault if that brute hurts him.

I tried to pretend like I didn't still want him.

I tried to pretend that he didn't matter.

How many lies I told myself, I wasn't sure. Eventually, I felt better. I lost him from my mind. It didn't hurt that way. It was better to forget.

If anything, it was better to have never loved at all, then to have loved and lost.

"_I've been waiting for you." He stood up from his rocky perch. These beaches weren't exactly known for their stones, so I was surprised to see one in the middle of the beach._

"_Waiting for me?" I chuckled good-naturedly. "I guess I've made quite the impression on you." _

"_Why are you here?" he asked once, as he rested amongst the almost outdated tobacco plants. Their young stalks swayed slightly as a warm breeze played across the land. "What do you want from me?" _

"_I want to know you," I said honestly, "I want to know another colony like me." _

"_I'm not like you," he said, frowning slightly, "I'll never be like you." _

I'll never be like you.

A/N: _C'est le fin_. I fell in love with the anguish and suffering of Cuba, and felt my heart break at the suffering of this nation, which is why this story wasn't a one-shot. It was supposed to be, but I felt like it did no justice to a dynamic history, and I'm kind of a history nerd. :o But ht4eva, did you like it? _C'est pour vous, mon ami(e?)_. If not, I'll do it over. *bows humbly* And make it shorter, hahaha!

To all the rest of you: I do suggestions as fast as I can, so when you R&R, test me. :P I do good with challenges. :P (AKA, R&R, because I said so. :o) _Merci pour lire, mes chers~ _


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